


The Immortal Mr. Jones

by icywind



Category: Highlander: The Series, Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icywind/pseuds/icywind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes (some long, some short) in the life of the newly immortal Ianto Jones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Immortal Mr. Jones

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into Torchwood fanfic, originally posted in late 2009 as a fix-it for COE. The style is a bit of an experiment really, so I hope it works and isn’t terribly confusing.
> 
> Disclaimer: If it’s recognizable, it’s not mine.

##    


The Immortal Mr. Jones

  


Body duty was more than a little dull, but the higher ups had been insistent. ‘We don’t need any damn pencil pushers in the government waking up believing they’re the fucking second coming,’ he believed were the vice-directors exact words (such an eloquent man he was).

It was easier being in here than out in the world right now, at least. All that post crisis clean-up that made him so very glad that the Watchers were truly an honest-to-God secret organization. And better yet, one that didn’t necessarily see itself as needing to ‘protect and save the human race.’ Well…not in a proactive sense anyway.

His current duty would also be over quite soon too. It had been two days since the debacle at Thames house and, while not completely certain of it, the Watchers were fairly confident that most Immortals revived from their ‘first death’ within, at the most, three days if major trauma had not occurred. A quarter of the bodies had even been claimed already, absolving him of his duty to them. The ones that remained, the ones he was currently ‘babysitting,’ had been moved to a new secured location. Still under guard, of course, with him on the inside and another guard on the other side of the door. He’d just tucked into his novel when a telltale gasp from the other end of the room jerked his attention out of it.

‘So much for a cake-walk then,’ he thought inwardly, crossing over to the ‘body’ and eased open the zipper on the body bag. The young man inside looked around, not entirely focusing on his surroundings but not half as freaked out as Tony would’ve expected. Perhaps he wouldn’t need the sedative in his coat pocket.

“Easy mate, you’re all right now,” he said, drawing the young man’s attention to his face, breath coming out in a cloud in the cool room.

“Jack…” the man tried after a cough or two. “I need to find Jack, where is he?”

“Ah…yeah…” and that was why he looked familiar. Torchwood operative, what was his name again? He snuck a look at the tag. Right…Ianto Jones. “About that…”

“No time, where is he? We have to stop them!” he tried to get up and Tony placed a hand on his chest, easing him back onto the table.

“He’s gone. It’s…it’s over. I don’t know the details, but, someone, probably your teammates, managed to defeat the 456.” He watched the information sink into the mind of the man below him, the blue eyes so very serious and searching. Tony wasn’t sure how to break the next bit of news, was curious why he hadn’t been asked either. Something to do with Harkness’s own bizarre brand of Immortality perhaps? Their organization had become aware of ‘Captain Harkness’ not all that long before Torchwood recruited him, and had placed a Watcher on his tail for over three decades before they determined he wasn’t the type of immortal they were used to dealing with. He’d had no reaction to any known immortal at the time, and no challenges to speak of. He was…unique, and though they’d kept loose tabs on him, they’d stopped actively tailing him.

“There is something else, Mr. Jones…” he took a deep breath when those sharp eyes caught his. Might as well just go for it. ‘Just like ripping off a plaster.’ “You’ve been dead for the past two days.”

~~~~

“Immortal?” Ianto tested the word on his tongue almost as if he’d never uttered it before. In a way, he supposed he hadn’t. Not in this context anyway. “I’m an Immortal, but not like Jack?” He picked at the scrubs Tony had offered (what did you expect, it's a hospital not an M&S!) after helping him out of the body bag.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Ianto studied the older man with a critical eye. He looked, not quite out of his depth but certainly not entirely comfortable with the conversation at hand. Ianto had far too many questions to worry about that at the moment however.

“How do you know about me? About Torchwood? Are you with Whitehall?”

“Everyone knows about Torchwood.”

“Everyone thinks they know about Torchwood. Recognizing a SUV with our name on it and pointing towards the bay in Cardiff does not equate actual knowledge of the organization.”

“Fair point,” Tony shrugged, scratching the back of his head and exposing a tattoo on his wrist. Ianto catalogued it for future reference. “It’s complicated, all right? I’m a part of a secret organization myself and…”

Suddenly what Tony had to say wasn’t quite so important anymore as a rather peculiar feeling swept over Ianto. A headache that wasn’t quite a headache and a musical buzz that was just off enough to be not entirely melodic and yet not exactly jarring rushed in his ears. A tall striking woman with dark hair entered the room just as the feeling was starting to fade as he acclimated to it.

“Good to see you Dev. Got here pretty fast, I didn’t interrupt anything did I?” Tony asked as he pulled her into a hug. The woman’s eyes flashed to Ianto briefly, before and after the hug as she shook her head. “Right then, introductions. Dev, this is Ianto Jones. Mr. Jones, this is my good friend and former assignment Devon Jarmel. Now, as a rule I know a lady never reveals her age, but, Dev here is quite a bit older than she looks and she originally went by the name Ceirdwyn.”

“I still do with friends and students,” she replied, fixing Tony with a stern look.

“Ceridwen was a sorceress in Welsh legends. Mother of Morfran, and through a series of bizarre occurrences common to most legends gave ‘birth’ to Taliesin, our legendary bard.” Ceirdwyn raised a brow and smirked.

“He’s a smart one,” she commented to Tony. “I may be over a thousand years old but I am pretty certain I’ve never had a child,” she said, turning her attention back to Ianto. “In fact, Mr. Jones. I cannot have children. Nor can you. Our particular brand of immortality renders us sterile.”

He didn’t know just how to respond to that, just listened attentively as she outlined what exactly she, and therefore he, was – and what would be expected of him in the future.

~~~~

Ceirdwyn had an estate in Norfolk, outside of Cromer. “Sir Arthur Conan Doyle got his inspiration for the Hound of the Baskervilles while vacationing in Cromer,” Tony had helpfully supplied on the train ride out. As if this was some sort of weird holiday and he needed a tour guide spouting off random information about the area. Still, despite the bizarreness of their initial meeting, Ianto found himself taking a liking to the older man and his occasionally macabre sense of humor. He knew that Ceirdwyn had promised to teach him and that he was ‘safe’ with her, but he felt that Tony was a little bit more of an ally in this situation. Perhaps it was their shared fondness for random factoids…

His training went about as smoothly as anything did in his life, which was to say, not all that smoothly at all really. Not at first anyway. He considered himself to be in good shape, Jack certainly had had no complaints of his physique and Torchwood was a rather physically taxing job at times when it came down to it, but he found himself thoroughly exhausted every night after the countless drills with swords or hand to hand combat techniques. Apparently that wonderful healing factor he got from his quickening didn’t extend to indefatigable stamina. Still…day by day he felt himself get stronger, and better, and before long the complex katas and routines became almost second nature to him.

“Y’know, I’m pretty certain my mandate to watch and record didn’t extend to this exactly,” Tony groused one sunny day as Ceirdwyn and Ianto prepared for a sparring lesson. He was mounting a video camera onto a tripod, and had another off to the side for some hand held action. “You’re really taking that literally, aren’t you Dev?”

“He’s going to need a proper sword of his own someday, something handmade and not just a hand me down. El needs the video as well as his measurements since she can’t make it here.”

“Hand me downs work fine for everyone else...God, get a smith in the line and the entire lot of you get spoilt.”

Ianto debated with and tossed aside the idea of raising his hand and proclaiming, ‘he’s still right here in front of you and would like to know what you’re running on at the mouth about, again.’ The duo had a habit of occasionally talking about him like he wasn’t there that he’d grown accustomed to. It helped that he was vaguely certain it wasn’t done with any malice, but rather ‘in his best interest.’

Funny how even now that he was immortal there still were people around him trying to tell him what was in his best interest. He was still undecided on whether or not to find it comforting or condescending.

Once the cameras were in place and the two combatants had warmed up sufficiently, the lesson began. Slowly at first, with he and Ceirdwyn circling each other warily, neither willing to make the first move. Finally, she struck at him and the match was underway with earnest. Back and forth they traded blows, equally matched for the most part, his increased strength balanced out by her speed.

He’d learned a great deal in the five months he’d been with her, chief among those things was to not get cocky not matter how well he was doing in a fight. And he was doing very well this time. So well in fact that roughly after a quarter of an hour (he’d tried to get Tony to time the fights once, and had received an ‘are you mental’ look in reply) he managed to disarm his teacher – for the first time ever. On instinct, he brought the edge of his broadsword to her neck and met her somewhat surprised gaze with one of his own. Her surprise morphed into quiet pride and pleasure as he lowered the blade.

“Well done,” she said softly, the corners of her lips turned in a gentle smile. He was pretty certain his answering one could rival the sun in intensity. He could feel it in his bones. He’d just passed some sort of milestone and it felt damn good.

In the background he could hear Tony whooping excitedly. “Whatever happened to objectivity?” he called back.

“Sod off,” was cheerfully returned as Ceirdwyn retrieved her sword.

“Let’s see if you can pull it off again.”

~~~~

Despite the pretty extreme workouts he’d been getting over the last six months Ianto’s legs and lungs burned as he ran towards the hill. If he could only make it to the top…if he could only get Jack’s attention… He could hear Tony panting behind him and briefly he wondered if the other man would get into any trouble for doing this for him. He’d had to call in a few favors and dig around in a database or two to even find Jack in the first place, and then he’d had to haggle some more to get another Watcher to tail him. He was a third of the way up the hill now, could see Jack clear as anything, could even hear his voice.

“Just watch me.”

“Jack! JACK!!” he shouted as loudly as he could, but it was to no avail, Jack’s hand was at his manipulator and then, with a twitch of a glance (or had he imagined that?) in Ianto’s direction he was suddenly gone in a beam of light. His stride carried him the rest of the way up the hill almost on reflex and he pulled to a stop several meters from Gwen and Rhys, but he wasn’t completely paying attention, his eyes raised skyward. He hadn’t made it in time. He’d failed. He only half heard Gwen crying a short distance away, saw Rhys put a comforting arm around her. Tony clambered along not long after and it was his panted “If’d only gotten the info quicker…” that drew the couple’s attention.

Gwen looked torn between equal parts suspicion, jubilation, and sadness, as she wiped her eyes to get a better look. Rhys was more the former with a hint of confusion thrown in for good measure. It took only a moment for Gwen to compose herself however, before she pulled a gun on him.

“All right. Who are you? If you were looking for Jack Harkness you’re too late and you better have a damn good reason for taking on the image of a dead man who happened to be a good friend of mine.”

Ianto couldn’t help but smile faintly, pushing Jack out of his mind for a moment to focus on the present. Feisty to the last, that was their Gwen. “It’s me Gwen. It’s Ianto.”

She studied him hard for a moment or two, the barrel of the gun not moving an inch. “Prove it.”

“Oh if I’d had a nickel every time I’ve heard that said to one of my charges…” Tony muttered.

Ignoring the comment and the look it garnered from Gwen, Ianto’s mind raced – how best to prove who he was? They’d been utter shit at talking in code when the phones had been bugged… Finally, he took a deep breath and just started speaking, spilling any and every factoid and anecdote he could think of and hoping for the best.

~~~~

It was amazing what the passage of time could do for your perception. When he’d first joined Torchwood Three it had been a means to an end, nothing more. Now, stepping into the Hub, albeit a not quite finished rebuilt version of the original, it felt like coming home.

Martha, on loan from UNIT and looking equally shocked and pleased to see him, performed some tests on him, but Ianto felt that the rest of Gwen’s resistance faded once Myfanwy screeched what they’d come to recognize as a sort of greeting to him.

“Sorry girl, I don’t have any chocolate for you,” he apologized, grinning openly at Tony’s exclamation of “You have a bloody Pteranodon as a pet?!”

“Mascot of a sort, actually. With a job like this, an office dog just seemed ridiculous,” had been his reply.

~~~~

Most immortals have to create new identities every few years to decades, depending on how often they move and how well they can ‘age’ without actually being able to grow old. You, however, might have a few more options given your…unique job and former boss,” Tony said rather nonchalantly.

“Is that a polite way of saying I should tell people ‘Aliens did this to me?’

“Or that Jack Harkness is catching?” Martha grinned wryly.

“I’m sorry,” Gwen began after they’d had a bit of an awkward laugh (mentioning Jack was going to result in that for the foreseeable future he estimated), “what was it you said you did Mr. Flynn?”

“Tony, please, and I didn’t say. But, to answer the question, I’m a Watcher. We hope to preserve a record of each Immortal’s history in the hopes that someday, we might benefit from them. We ‘watch and record but never interfere.” Ianto could almost hear the inverts around the catch phrase.

“So you’re a professional stalker then?” Gwen could do innocent like no one else, though Ianto could see the teasing humor in her eyes, especially when Tony colored and stammered a little.

“Professional stalker is certainly not the first job title I would pick…even if it’s accurate,” he admitted with a duck of his head. “‘sides which, Ianto needs a sparring partner.”

“What happened to that never interfering part?”

“Minor detail – I’m not fighting for you, just keeping you sharp.”

Ianto could fairly see the wheels turning in Gwen’s mind. Would Tony have a spot on her newly formed team?

Would he, for that matter?

A few minutes and a slow smile and nod later and it seemed they did.

~~~~

They fall into a routine. Gwen taking up the mantle as leader, just as she had when Jack went off with the Doctor after Abaddon. It’s a position that seems to suit her, even if her mobility was limited for a while. Ianto, the defacto ‘field leader’ during the remainder of her pregnancy and maternity leave. Tony along for the ride as well, partly to keep an eye on Ianto as his Watcher, but he turns out to be a rather good agent in his own right. During the time Ianto had been training Lois had also tentatively joined the team, in addition to Johnson – who apparently had had a change of heart during the end of the crisis – at least on a part time basis. She, along with UNIT, had been instrumental in helping rebuild the Hub. It was only fair, really, since she’d been the one to blow it up. Even Mickey Smith had returned, though he kept claiming it was only temporarily, and that ‘someone has to set the computer network up properly.’ No one mentioned the fact that the central computer itself was sentient and could easily do most of the work for them once they had the equipment in.

Martha helped out when she could as their doctor, but it took another three months before they finally found someone to fill the position. Lily Fredericks joined on Tony’s suggestion; apparently she’d worked for a major hospital in her native Vancouver and often performed…favors for the Watchers. She, as they soon discovered, was almost a complete opposite from Owen, almost never going out in the field and her bedside manner and demeanor unfailingly polite. Thankfully, she turns out to be almost as skillful as him doctor wise.

Ianto thinks he misses the gruffness and snark (not to mention, the occasional row), even though he no longer actually requires any medical attention.

~~~~

There is a tense moment three months into things when Ianto stiffens at his work station, the feel of another Immortal washing over him. Everyone else’s eyes snap to the CCTV and you can almost hear the collected intake of breath as they wait to see who reacts first. A man and a woman appear on the screen, the man shouldering a duffel bag and looking around the plaza like any other tourist. The woman appears more nonchalant and Ianto immediately pegs her as the Immortal. A minute later Tony’s boisterous laugh fills the air.

“No need to worry mate! I know her, she’s a friend.” He claps Ianto on the back and motions for him to follow. The Welshman glances at Gwen, large and due any day now, who gives him a slightly nervous gap-toothed grin.

“Don’t you dare shock me into labour, Ianto Jones,” she admonishes him. It’s hard to tell if she is serious or joking and equally likely she’s a little bit of both.

“I’ll do my best not to,” he replies with the barest hint of a smile before following Tony out.

~~~~

The couple enters the tourist centre a minute or two after Ianto and Tony. He isn’t sure what he’d expected in meeting his first Immortal since his teacher, but it certainly wasn’t the person in question pulling Tony into a tight embrace, murmuring a greeting in a language he can’t quite make out.

“Still going by Brett then, yeah?”

She nods in reply as the man next to her, her husband Ianto is surprised to discover, says a moment later: “Thank God for that. I’m not sure I could keep up with all that name changing.” Names (Brett and Thomas Avery) and small talk are exchanged briefly before they all troupe outside.

Ianto sat next to Brett on the stairs, the duffel at their feet and they watched as Tony led Thomas off, gesticulating grandly at their surroundings.

“How long have the two of you been married?” It’s hard to know what to say, so he opens with the obvious.

“Fifteen years now,” she replied with a smile.

Ianto nodded absently and opened the duffel bag, pulling a sword case from it. Snapping the clasps open, he picked up the sword, removing it from the sheath in one fluid motion. It was, quite simply put, exquisite. A single handed broadsword with a wire and leather wrapped grip and lenticular cross section. Roughly 13th or 14th century in style by his estimation (as usual he’d done research upon becoming Immortal and learning his life now depended on having the proper blade). Engraved on one side of the blade was a Welsh dragon, on the other the stylized ‘T’ emblem of the Torchwood Institute. He raised a brow at that and Brett shrugged in reply.

“Tony suggested it. I can always remove it…”

“No,” he says quietly, then a moment later with more confidence. “No, keep it. It’s rather fitting I suppose.” Torchwood was part of the reason he was Immortal. It was also, for better or worse, a part of his life for however long he might live.

“My second husband, Denis, was a blacksmith. He taught me how to make swords, ostensibly so that I would never be lacking in the thing that was most vital to my life. I think, in a way, it was his way of protecting me even after he was long dead. A means to remember him by.”

Ianto was quiet as he re-sheathed the blade, trying hard not to think about what he’d said to Jack with his ‘dying words.’ “How long?”

“It’s been…” she paused, doing the math in her head, “a little over 900 years since he died.”

“And do you…?”

She seemed to either instinctually know what he was trying to say or just picked up on something in his tone. “I don’t think about him every day, no. But I will never forget him either.

If his smile was just a tiny bit watery, neither of them commented on it.

~~~~

The first time he meets the Doctor in person he and Tony are following an anomalous reading that popped up on the sensors after a rift spike. Cross referencing the information on their handheld scanners and staying in contact with Lois over the comms, they’re not paying attention as they round a corner…and stumble over someone coming the other way. There’s a fair bit of muttering and a curse word or two as the three of them disentangle themselves.

Ianto’s gaping just a little as he gets a good look at the person they’ve bumped into. He snaps his mouth shut as he dusts off his coat (a decent enough dark grey trench coat, his sword a comforting if occasionally awkward weight at his side).

“Ianto Jones!” the Doctor beams at him when recognition finally sparks. “You’re looking partic…oh! Hang on,” the gadget in his hand chooses that moment to beep. “That’s odd…” he shakes it and it beeps again. The Doctor’s eyes flicker between the gadget and Ianto several times.

“Ahhh…. Yes, yes, now I see it.” He twists a knob on the gadget and tucks it back in his pocket. “You’re immortal! That’s the peculiar reading I was following. Mystery Solved! Molto bene! So! What brings you here?” he asks conversationally.

Tony’s eyebrow is threatening to breach his hairline, but Ianto’s normal manners seem to have fled him and, rather than attempt to introduce the two of them or explain anything he finds himself asking, “Don’t I feel wrong to you?”

“Jack told you that hm? Ah well, makes sense…” the Doctor’s eyebrows raise and lower in quick succession. “Simple explanation, and I don’t normally do these so count yourself lucky, you are a different brand of immortal than Jack. Jack is a fixed point in time, there is no way to kill him…as far as I can tell anyway. You, on the other hand, can be killed am I right? Don’t answer that, of course I’m right. I’ve met your kind before, involved in some sort of ‘Game,’” he spat the word with a surprising amount of venom. “Cut off each other’s heads with swords and axes and anything else handy at the time. Not exactly ‘immortal’ when it’s all said and done, are you?”

Ianto bit his tongue to keep from snapping back at the Doctor, it wasn’t like he chose this for himself and it was arguably better than death… The Doctor, perhaps sensing his irritation let his features soften some.

“Jack’s mentioned you a few times. Always speaks so very highly of you.”

“Is he with you right now?” He absolutely hates the stupid little bit of hope that edges into his voice and is wordlessly thankful that Tony steps closer to him but stops short of placing a hand on his shoulder when the Doctor shakes his head and that hope dies.

“I’m sorry… Not at the moment, no. He doesn’t know what you are, does he?”

“I didn’t get there in time.”

“Next time I see him, I’ll tell him.”

Whatever it was he and Tony had been rushing to find took that moment to make itself known, letting out a pulse of light, color, and sound from three blocks over and sending the trio on their way to investigate. He and the Doctor never exactly finish their stilted conversation.

~~~~

The second time he meets the Doctor is only a month after the first and not by chance at all. He and Johnson are in the Hub on an overnight shift when a familiar sound drifts down from above them. Ianto glances over to the CCTV and sure enough, the TARDIS is parked overhead next to the newly rebuilt water tower. Probably a good thing too, considering the invisible lift had been on the fritz since the explosion (there seemed to be a random 1 in 9 or so odd chance of being visible when it brought them to the surface – the seagulls never notice, but Mickey startled an elderly woman one day).

“What do you suppose he wants?” Johnson asks.

“Spot of tea would be lovely, thanks,” a tall and terribly thin young (very young) man says from behind them. Johnson pulls her sidearm as Ianto locks eyes with the intruder. Something sparks in him and he hesitates to pull his own.

“Doctor?” The thin man nods, and he thinks he can hear Johnson muttering under her breath as she holsters her weapon. She leaves the two of them alone, retreating to Gwen’s office to finish some reports.

“The TARDIS needed to refuel and I felt like stopping by…introduce my new face,” he smiles a bit at the feeble attempt at humor. “And I also have something for you…” he pulls a package out and hands it over to Ianto. Inside is a black trench coat made of the most exquisite cloth Ianto’s ever felt. There is no tag and he looks questioningly at the Doctor.

“I was strolling through a bazaar on some planet with a friend…he thought you could use a good coat. All the better to hide that broadsword of yours…well…with a little jiggery pokery on my part.” He looks rather pleased with himself as he waggles the sonic screwdriver around, and that’s certainly a trait Ianto is familiar with from his predecessor. “Dimensionally transcendental sheath on the interior – took some doing, that.”

Ianto is quiet for a moment before asking. “It was Jack, wasn’t it?” The Doctor nods, his features evening out briefly and then turning a shade confused. “How is…”

“He’s as well as can be expected…Which I thought you would’ve known. Huh…interesting…” he says, mostly to himself. Ianto knows there has to be more to the thought, but this regeneration seems to be a little bit less likely to think out loud – at least fully. Upon first impression anyway (an impression he would most assuredly revise later). He seems to muse silently for another moment or two before snapping his attention back to the immortal. “He’ll be back, I promise, but I can’t say anything more than that.”

Ianto wonders, a bit childishly, if reaching a certain age (500 perhaps if he is being generous) suddenly makes a person (or alien) speak frustratingly cryptically or if it’s just practice that does it.

He thanks the Doctor for the coat and they eventually share a cup of tea along with a few stories before the Time Lord excuses himself back to his ship.

If only all, or he’d settle for half really, of their future meetings could be so quiet and anticlimactic.

~~~~

Ianto ‘dies’ a grand total of three times over the course of his first four years as an immortal. The first time he’s Weevil wrangling with Tony. He thinks he’s got a pair cornered only to find out that there are actually three of them. It’s a sloppy mistake, and he’s rather disgruntled more than anything as he feels himself slip away from life, dimly hearing Tony shouting and shooting. He awakens an unknown amount of time later in Tony’s arms, his blood staining the older man’s shirt irreparably.

“S’all right, I was looking for an excuse to toss this one,” he says, helping Ianto to his (unsteady) feet and guiding him to the SUV.

The second time he does it to save Gwen from a rather nasty acid spitting alien. It apparently takes some time for him to revive because they’re back in the Hub and he’s dressed in a fresh set of clothing before coming to, Gwen crying and angrily chewing him out at the same time.

“Of all the stupid….It dissolved your flesh!”

“Mine’ll grow back, it’s a real handy trick – can you say the same of yours?”

She doesn’t try to argue with that, not really, and the issue falls to the wayside soon enough, though he makes a mental note to be more careful about dying in front of Gwen in the future.

He doesn’t recall much of the third time and he doesn’t entirely care to try. All he does know is on his good days he is certain he could hazily make out the shape of someone in a greatcoat watching over him as he slipped into the darkness.

On the bad days he’s certain he was merely hallucinating.

~~~~

He’s met a few of his kind since becoming Immortal, but it takes five years before Ianto is faced with his first challenge. The man in the alleyway before him is large and a little intimidating if he’s being honest with himself.

“Been following you a few days,” the man ‘Pekka Valo – Hanko, Finland’ (Ianto doesn’t find it half as silly as he thought he might, introducing himself so formally a moment later) says as Ianto unsheathes his sword and removes his coat, setting it carefully off to the side.

“If you needed information about the area we do have a tourist office with pamphlets,” is his reply, because it’s hard to turn off the snark when he’s feeling edgy. Valo doesn’t appreciably react to that and Ianto knows this fight will not be a simple one. He wonders if Tony will get there in time to view any of it and hopes that his Watcher won’t need to see him killed in his very first battle. And then, before he realizes it, the first blow has been struck and they’re fighting in earnest.

He’s careful not to give too much of himself away so early in the fight. Being so new to the game he has the advantage of no reputation, Ceirdwyn and Tony both stressed that was ‘a good thing.’ He didn’t have the heart to tell them he knew all about the benefits of being underestimated already. He purposefully made one or two mistakes as well, to lend credence to the idea that he didn’t quite know what he was doing, all the while slowly taking measure of Valo and his abilities.

Sword fighting, as it turned out, was rather similar to chess in many ways and as the fight went on Ianto was able to get a clearer and clearer picture of what Valo had in mind – and how to counter it. Patiently, he waited for an opening and when it came he struck, finishing the battle with a quick flick of his wrist to disarm Valo and then a smooth follow through to behead him. His breath is coming in gasps and he’s looking around in sheer wonder at winning his first battle when the mist begins to rise from Valo’s body, it swirls around him in a caress and he grins for a moment, flush with success…until he’s struck by a bolt of energy. He’s had stories told to him about the quickening, thought he knew what to expect, but his first experience of one made him realize those expectations were severely lacking. It was agony. Pure, sweet, wonderful and terrible at the same time, agony. Pain and pleasure and power all rolled into one, he loved and hated every moment of it and once it finished he found himself exhilarated and exhausted at the same time, slumped against the wall and panting as if he’d had the best sex of his life.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t really flinch when a familiar figure seemed to coalesce beside him.

“Thanks for the coat.” As greetings went, it was pretty much shit, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“I know how picky you are about them…” Jack replies, stepping into the light and Ianto is glad he’s still a little breathless from the fight, because his first look at Jack in five years makes him feel a little winded and his gasp is hidden in his labored breathing.

He looks…good wouldn’t exactly be the right term. He’s still as handsome as ever, though there are a few more lines there than Ianto can recall seeing before and a little grey has snuck in, or been allowed to sneak in, at his temples (it adds a certain distinguished air to him that Ianto very much approves of). His eyes are haunted as well – and that’s why he refuses to say Jack looks good because his usual spark is no longer there. It’s not as dim as he thought it might be though. He’s had time to heal then.

“How long has it been for you?”

“100 years, give or take,” Jack replies and there is a hint of a smile there, as if he is pleased Ianto had discovered all on his own that Jack had been away for a lot longer by his point of view than Ianto’s. “I…stopped by once or twice to check up on you and Gwen after the Doctor mentioned what had happened to you. I just wasn’t ready to come back.”

“And now?”

Jack doesn’t reply at first, he just leans a little closer, giving Ianto a look as if asking for permission. The Welshman has never seen him this hesitant save for that time in the office when John had led them on that damn wild goose chase. Ianto nods imperceptibly (they’ll need to talk later, there was so much that needed to be said, so much to work through but at the moment he’s willing to let it slide, pleased beyond belief that he’s alive and Jack’s here) and closes the distance himself.

~~~~

There was an absolutely unbelievable amount of running with this job, Tony thought as he rushed towards the alley. Lois had sounded frantic in his ear after he’d successfully finished rounding up a small group of sentient hamsters (God the report on that one was going to be a treat to write) – Ianto hadn’t reported in on schedule and she couldn’t seem to raise him on the comms. The CCTV in the area he’d last reported in at also seemed to be out as well. Coincidences could happen; Tony knew that, he also knew, however, that in his job at least that was generally not the case.

He had a feeling in his gut that Ianto had been challenged.

The closer he got the more annoyed he became with himself. He knew he couldn’t interfere with the battle at all, but he should’ve been there anyway! The smell of ozone and smoke reached him before he took in the telltale signs of a recent quickening. His heart raced even as he slowed his pace to a walk and reigned in his breathing so he could covertly peer around the corner into the alleyway. If Ianto hadn’t been the victor he didn’t want the other Immortal to spot him.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried for the Welshman was alive and well, Tony breathed a sigh of relief and would’ve called out if not for the other figure in the alley with him. Tony might never have met the man but he fancied he could recognize the infamous Captain Jack Harkness from a mile away, let alone a few hundred meters. The two were talking in hushed, serious tones and Tony eased back around to give them some privacy. He walked several paces away before paging the Hub.

“Lois? Look...calm down Lois. No no…no, call off Johnson. The situation is under control. Ianto’s fine. He just had a slight…technological gaff is all.” He wasn’t exactly lying either – he’d spotted Ianto’s earpiece at the mouth of the alley where he’d probably dropped it prior to the fight. It had, of course, been decimated by the lighting during the quickening. “We’ll get back as soon as we can, alright? Oh and Lois…” he grinned as a thought occurred to him. “Break out a bottle of the good stuff. I think we just might have cause to celebrate tonight.”


End file.
